


Walls come down

by SuperMazeWolf



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Humor, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Sleep Deprivation, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6682000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperMazeWolf/pseuds/SuperMazeWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony thinks that no one notices him hurting, and he likes to keep it that way.</p>
<p>Steve can notice immediately, but he's never sure how to approach the problem.</p>
<p>Warning: Triggering things up ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, Stoners.

It's not like Tony's trying to be obvious, in fact, he's doing a good job of keeping to himself.

Quite frankly, nobody seems to notice Tony hurting, and he likes to keep it that way. It's much easier than having to talk about problems he has to deal with by himself, and besides, he doesn't want anyone being hesitant because _Tony's_ hurting. Nobody should have to deal with Tony, he's just there to help.

He thinks.

" _Sir, the last time you slept was over 57 hours ago-_ " "Save it for later, J. Scan this for me." Tony abruptly cuts Jarvis off, holding up a piece of metal he found while on a mission. 

He lifts his head when Steve walks in, and Tony utters a small 'hey' before looking down and reaching for his cup of coffee. "Tony, when was the last time you slept?" Steve asks, gripping Tony's wrist to stop him. Tony shakes him off and shrugs. "Probably a few hours ago. Or days, I dunno." "Jarvis?" " _Exactly 61 hours and 23 minutes in counting, Captain Rogers._ " "Betrayer," Tony mutters, averting his eyes. "Tony, that's over 2 days, almost 3," Steve exclaims, making Tony shift his eyes, "You need sleep."

Tony scoffs and feels a sense of warmth overwhelming him. It's probably annoying for Steve to look after Tony, a fucking idiot and genius that almost ended the world,, but Tony can only let a smile slip. " _Sir, your pulse is decreasing._ " Steve looks up and stares at Tony in worry, reaching forward slightly. " _Your pulse is increasing rapidly-_ " Tony suddenly feels his head go light, and his eyes roll back and suddenly everything's loud before he falls forward, right into Steve's arms. The last thing he hears is a desperate call from Steve before passing out.

-

Steve cannot believe Tony's stupidity. He's so worried, Tony literally passed out from sleep deprivation, and he refused to talk and is still refusing. Ever since the last battle they had, Tony has been locking himself up in his lab and denying access for anyone, aside from Steve who overrides it. 

Now Steve's carrying a passed out and sleeping Tony to his room, studying the pale and brittle complex of Tony's skin and lips. His lips are chapped and cracked, his skin papery white and eye bags almost as dark as mascara. His fingers are covered with bruises, and there's... There's small cuts along Tony's wrist, and for a moment Steve thinks that it's just accidental, but peering closely he can see the forced lines.

Shit.

Tony's been _cutting_ himself. Now that he thinks about it, the bottles of alcohol in Tony's stash is rapidly decreasing, and he did see a bottle of Scotch behind Tony's desk. 

Oh shit.  
Shit.  
_Shit._

Steve lays Tony down on the bed and pulls the covers over him, letting out a huff as he sits down. He's gonna stay, he has to stay. Tony's hurting, and Steve's not stopping until he finds out why.


	2. Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol

Tony feels himself slipping as he takes another sip of the drink in his hand. You know, usually, Tony would enjoy drinking, it makes him forget, but this time it's almost as if the bottles are mocking him. 

So he drinks more. 

He's not sure how many bottles he drank, briefly counting, he can barely make out 6 or 7, but he's drunk. He can't count properly. He laughs at that, bitterly, and slams his bottle down on the counter. 

" _Sir, your alcohol level is higher over 0.20%._ " 

Oh. 

Tony feels like vomiting, now that he thinks about it. 

" _Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting to enter the lab._ " Tony doesn't reply, he reaches for another bottle and opens it with shaking hands, and he takes another gulp. "N..." Tony can't finish his sentence, he's trying to concentrate on his breathing. " _Captain Rogers is entering the lab._ " Tony looks up, confused. How did he override the system? 

X 

Steve hurries into the lab, feeling a wave of nausea hit him when the smell of alcohol overwhelms him. "Jesus- Tony?" He calls out, covering his nose and mouth with a hand, "You there?" A drunken 'yeah' is heard in the bar area, and Steve quickly runs over to see Tony on the floor, a bottle in hand. "Tony, you okay?" Steve asks, crouching down and taking the bottle from Tony's hand. "Sure. I'm just..." Tony smiles, "Peachy." Then he laughs, and Steve immediately knows something's wrong. "Tony, what happened?" 

Tony doesn't answer the question, he brings his hand up to Steve's arm and grips it, eyes drooping and breathing growing slower. "Sorry," Tony mutters, "Sorry, sorry, sorry-" Steve shakes his head and shushes Tony, looking around at the 7- no, 8 bottles of some sort of alcohol on the counter. "C'mon Tony," Steve grunts as he puts Tony's arm around his shoulder, "I need to get you to bed." Tony lets out a slurred laugh at that, slapping his hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve notices the red streaks on his wrist and frowns, taking Tony's hand and flipping it over gently. "Tony-" Tony flinches slightly, squeezing his eyes shut as if he's expecting a blow.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispers, and it breaks Steve's heart. Steve shakes his head and picks Tony up instead of walking him, straight to his room. "Does it hurt?" Steve murmurs, setting Tony down softly. "Yes." "Where does it hurt, Tony?" Tony looks up drunkenly and frowns, licking his chapped lips. "I don't know." Steve sits down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through Tony's hair with a small sigh. "It's gonna be okay, Tony, it is." Tony smiles slightly at that, his eyes drooping. "I'm sorry for drinking," Tony mutters, "I'm sorry for... for..." He stops, swallowing. Steve shakes his head again. 

"Please stay," Tony whispers, "Please." Steve nods, and for once he doesn't care about the fact that Tony's drunk. Tony needs help, a lot of help, and Steve's determined to help him. "It's not your fault," Steve says soothingly, "None of it is. Sleep, Tony, I'll stay." Tony smiles, his eyes closing. 

"Thank you," Tony breathes, and Steve smiles fondly. 

The next morning, he wakes up to Tony groaning and muttering about hang overs. Tony looks over at him and... 

_Smiles._


	3. Self harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger heavy

Tony doesn't know why he does it in the first place.

He's a scientist, he knows it's not gonna do him any good afterwards, knows that he's doing nothing but just damaging himself even more, but he can't help it. The pain, it makes him know that he's real, not a ghost that just upgrades armour, it makes him hold on and feel emotions. 

Besides, he's always next to something sharp, whether it be a piece of metal or an actual knife, he's constantly working next to sharp objects.

It usually starts when he's feeling like an object, he gets desperate to feel _something_ so he ends up pressing something sharp to his finger or wrist or hand and draws blood, feels the warm liquid and pain spread, and he knows he's alive.

And he does it again.  
And again.  
He doesn't know why.

But this time when he does it, it's bad, because Steve walks in just as Tony's pressing down on his wrist, face blank. 

"Tony, hey," Steve hurries to his side, grabbing Tony's hand to stop him, "Tony, what's wrong?" For half a second, Tony wants to say everything's wrong, wants to say that the fucking world is wrong, that _he himself_ is wrong, but he mutters, "Nothing. Just, I, uh..." Steve huffs and sets the blade down, a frown on his face. "You're bleeding, Tony, come on," he says, putting an arm around him in a reassuring manner, "Let's get that fixed."

Tony can't believe the casual tone of Steve's voice. Usually, people would be screaming at Tony, telling him that he's a dumbass who's too good for this world, but Steve's acting normal, and Tony actually appreciates it. "Sorry," Tony hears himself mutter, and he mentally face palms as Steve looks down at him, eyes widening. "Why’re you sorry?" He asks, letting Tony settle down on the couch as Steve pulls a first aid kit onto the coffee table. "I dunno." "Then don’t be, Tony. You don't have to be sorry, I should be sorry," Steve says quietly, dabbing the blood off of Tony's wrist. 

"Why should you be sorry?" Tony blurts out, biting down hard on his tongue. He can taste blood.

"For not noticing sooner," Steve murmurs, "For not helping you when you needed it."

Tony feels kind of warm and tingly at that statement.

"Yeah?" Tony mutters, "That's a first." He winces slightly when Steve cleans the small wounds with wet pads, and Steve looks up abruptly. "Sorry, did that hurt?" He asks, worry on his face. "Not really." After a few moments, Steve finishes wrapping the bandage around his wrist.

And he sits next to Tony and puts an arm around him.  
Tony melts into the touch with a sigh unintentionally.

"Sorry," Tony mutters again, "For making you do this."  
"You didn't make me. I wanted to help."

And Tony smiles just a bit before falling asleep next to Steve.


End file.
